His
by BlueEyesBlueSkies
Summary: Prompt- (Aerys)/Joanna/Tywin: It enrages Tywin to watch Aerys "take liberties" with Joanna on the night of their wedding. But it also turns him on to see how badly the King of the Seven Kingdoms wants something that now belongs to him. A one-shot in response to the prompt! Rated M for adult themes.


**Prompt- (Aerys)/Joanna/Tywin: It enrages Tywin to watch Aerys "take liberties" with Joanna on the night of their wedding. But it also turns him on to see how badly the King of the Seven Kingdoms wants something that now belongs to** ** _him_** **.**

 **It is alleged that during Tywin and Joanna's wedding feast, Aerys drunkenly japed about how it was a pity the first night tradition was banned, and he took certain "unwonted liberties" with Joanna in the bedding ritual when the men at the feast had to disrobe the bride. This one-shot explores what might have occurred.**

 **I own nothing. Take it or leave it** **J**

She was a vision draped in Lannister crimson, hair sparkling like fine-spun strands of gold, the very air around her shimmering with her effervescent beauty. The candles glittered around her, there were twinkles in her eyes, and Tywin found himself the preening groom to the most beautiful bride in the realm.

He was, however, not the only one who noticed her.

From his perch on the dais, Aerys watched over Tywin's wedding feast with a single-minded determination, his violet eyes piercing the bubbles of happiness his bride welled within him with each passing breath, making him increasingly rankle in fury.

Aerys wanted his wife. Aerys wanted what was _his_.

She twirled with some lord or another of a lesser House on the marble floor, innocent to the tension permeating the room as the Mad King eyed the Lion's new bride. She was all that was good, all that was fine, her own light shining brighter than the sun. She drowned out the Queen, that pale imitation of beauty with her milk-white skin and violet eyes, drab and dull when staring at the sun that was the lovely Joanna.

Aerys and Tywin watched it all, on opposite ends of the hall.

Tywin had eyes for Aerys. Aerys had eyes only for Joanna.

He'd never been more grateful that the abhorrent first night tradition had been banned. He, and he alone, would devour the jewel that lay between his new wife's creamy thighs. He smirked, his green eyes glittering by the light of a thousand candles and torches, as he watched his King lust after his wife. A stirring in his cock told him he was not only moved to anger. He was hungry; proud that even the greatest man in the realm wanted what only he could have.

He was a fool.

Aerys waited but a moment more before calling the feast to an end, signaling the beginning of the bedding ceremony with a crook of his long-nailed, brittle finger. His sickly silver hair hung in limp clumps beneath his heavy golden crown, and the heat in his eyes as he made his way to Joanna made Tywin want to draw his sword and call on the Stranger to deal death this night.

A soothing glance from Joanna stayed his hand.

They had discussed what she might face at the hands of the King, making her way to his chambers. Even with his leverage as Hand, Tywin could only do so much, and he could not stay the King from enjoying the bedding ceremony. He'd barely been able to restrain the King from calling in the first night tradition.

That, would most certainly, have only occurred over Tywin's corpse.

A gaggle of ladies, dressed in colors more brilliant than the rainbow, hurried him up from where he lounged in his chair, shooing and stripping him as they chased him from the hall and towards his chambers. In a matter of moments he was down to his small clothes, with one retched hen tugging on the lacings as if she could remove them by sheer force.

She could not.

With a sigh, he finally reached his chambers, brushing off the increasingly grabby fingers as he shoved open the door. The sight that met him had his cock hardening while his heart pounded and screamed for blood and retribution.

His King was on his knees, his tongue dancing amongst her curls, while his claws raked over her pebbled nipples and the soft curves of her breasts.

His King was on his knees for his lady wife.

His cock strained against the laces of his breeches as he cleared his throat, a brow raised casually, his eyes flaming, while inside he seethed. Tears streamed down Joanna's face, and Tywin watched enraged as Aerys' tongue slipped into her folds, causing an unwilling buck and gasp as she roused to his touch in spite of herself.

He would make her forget every last touch by the Mad King's disgusting frame if it was all he did before he breathed his last breath.

He cleared his throat once more, firmer this time, flushing with fury when Aerys finally snapped back from between his wife's curls, rising to rest his crippled frame on his cane. Those glittering violet eyes snapped to his, blazing with each unhurried step he took towards the door, a silent challenge, a hint of victory, a promise of pursuit.

Tywin would kill him.

Tywin would kill him by fucking Joanna so hard the entire castle woke to screams of his name.

A last long perusal in Joanna's direction, and then he was gone, gliding from the door as Tywin slammed it shut without a backward glance. Fresh teardrops glistened her eyelashes and she pouted beautifully before his lips crashed down on hers.

She tasted of salt, she tasted of wine, she tasted of Joanna, she tasted of _need_. His need. His need for her. His need to devour, claim what was his. His need to erase any thought of the King's caresses, pleasurable or painful, until she knew only him and him alone. They broke apart on a breath, he a shuddering rumble, she a breathless moan, before he scooped her into his arms and carried her towards their bed.

He had never been so hard in his life.

Tywin lay her on the silks, loved her with his fingers and his tongue and his cock, until she screamed so loud the panes rattled in the windows and the door shuddered in its frame. He fucked her until he could not tell where he began and she ended, until all he felt was her slick core and the blinding pulses of pleasure radiating out to balm his soul.

Later, when she'd fainted from the pleasure, he'd gathered her into his arms, tucking her in amongst the furs. He was smug, preening and proud as a lion could be.

His lady wife had brought the Mad King to worship on his knees.

His wife.

 _His._


End file.
